


"A well-done autopsy is a joy forever."

by APgeeksout



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e02 Good God Y'all!, Episode: s05e04 The End, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-18
Updated: 2009-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:31:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title snagged from Kolchak: The Night Stalker.</p>
    </blockquote>





	"A well-done autopsy is a joy forever."

**Author's Note:**

> Title snagged from Kolchak: The Night Stalker.

“And this one has a built-in webcam, so it’s great for video-conferencing, or for if you have family or friends far away.”  The salesgirl - Marcie, according to her nametag - is cute.  Freckles and blue eyes and a long blond ponytail.  Compact and athletic, toned arms revealed by her blue polo shirt. 

If Sam were here, this is where he’d have amused himself by speculating about other, better uses for a webcam.  Sam’s promising porn career at ‘livenudegeeks.com’, maybe a crack about "soft core".  Something to make both his little brother and the cute clerk blush a little.  Give them a chance to bond over what a pain-in-the-ass he can be.  Maybe a pretty girl could get Sam to say something that isn’t _another_ fucking apology. 

 But Sam’s not here, and wherever he’s gone to bury his head in the sand, he’ll need Google and Myspace and all the shitty music he’s downloaded.  And if Sam or the computer were here, Dean wouldn't need to be.  So he just nods and half-listens to Marcie pointing out 17-inch monitors and Blu-ray compatibility while a bunch of high school kids air-guitar to "Cat Scratch Fever" in the video game section.

After another couple minutes of her spiel, he chooses the one with the least pain-in-the-ass touchpad mouse thing that still looks like it might survive being dropped.  Or falling or having someone or something fall on it.  He picks out software - whatever virus thing Marcie recommends, a couple of audio packages for the next time he has to clean up EVP, and signs up to have tech support install it all for him.  This is probably the last swipe for Tony Vincenzo’s Visa.  Might as well make it a good one. 

He’ll miss this set of alter egos.  Sam had appreciated the _Kolchak_ references, even when he’d realized that all of his documents now identified him as Emil E. Cowles.  “Miss Emily,” Dean had snickered, and Sam trying and failing to ignore him, had rolled his eyes, and things had felt right for a whole three minutes.  Until Sam’s phone started going off with Ruby’s ringtone. 

Time is the one thing he’s never been that great at killing, and he ends up wandering the store while the Geek Squad sets up the computer.  It’s mostly aimless, but he does detour around the aisles of MP3 players and icrap.  Last thing he needs to be reminded of is the adapter protruding from his best girl’s dash or how it’s the least of the mistakes Sam made without anyone there to watch out for him or how there’s nobody checking up on him these days either.  

He winds up in the DVDs.  The end of the world probably isn’t the time to catch up on the movies he’s missed, but his rooms have been too quiet since he cut Sam loose.    
  
Cas turns up now and then.  He always answers the phone, supplies coordinates, but whatever’s happening to the angel in his corner, he needs too much, doesn’t understand enough, to help with the spaces and silences Dean needs filled.  

It’s not like he’s never been on his own.  Hell, he was even starting to get pretty good at it, almost used to it, before he found Dad in his voicemail, sending him to Jericho by way of Palo Alto and Sammy.  But that was a lifetime ago.  Before he was more sure than he’s been about anything in his life that when Marcie stars in his dreams, tonight or tomorrow or one night next week, he’ll start by stripping off her cotton uniform and move on to peeling off her freckled skin in strips.  That if he doesn’t wake up fast enough he’ll know exactly how he would’ve taken her apart.  Which steps he would have lingered over.  How his breath would’ve run short when he was elbow-deep inside her.   

Right time or not, he keeps flipping through the plastic-wrapped cases.  The next time he jerks awake with the taste of blood and the feeling of viscera under his fingernails and a bellyful of curdled satisfaction, he’ll need something to steady himself with.  If it can’t be Sam’s night noises - familiar even when his little brother is more of a stranger every day - then it might as well be or _The French Connection_ or _The Bionic Woman_ or Carl Kolchak himself.  


End file.
